


Thinking Out Loud

by mermaidforeachother



Category: Free!
Genre: Bus AU, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Haru daydreams a lot, Haruka is Pretty: The Musical, M/M, Mind reader AU, Old Lady OC - Freeform, Romance, This was based off an old tumblr post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidforeachother/pseuds/mermaidforeachother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto spends a lot of time trying to keep his thoughts to himself- literally.<br/>This is harder to do when he can't stop thinking about the guy he's met on the bus, or his vivid daydreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking Out Loud

**Author's Note:**

> *back-flips into the sun* This was started a year and half ago.  
> Thanks to the lovely ladyshinx for being my very, very, (very, ect) patient beta.
> 
> The title is from the Ed Sheeran song.  
> "I'm thinking out loud:  
> maybe we found love  
> right were we are"

Makoto climbed the stairs to the bus quickly, and searched for any empty seats in vain. He noted the tired faces around him, most of them obviously dreading the early start to the day, or otherwise frantically texting or talking into their cellphones. Makoto recognized some of them as regular passengers who rode the bus to work, or to school like him. He nodded in greeting to an old woman in an aisle seat, his elderly neighbor, Hamasaki-san. Sighing, he grabbed the handgrip next to her, and resigned himself to standing on the crowded transport once again. Hamasaki-san always rode the bus on the same days to the nearest grocery store to do her weekly shopping.

  Makoto could hear the old woman mentally check off the things she needed to buy for this trip. It was almost always the same things: " _Rice, ginger, bread, eggs..._ " She trailed off, a pinched look on her wrinkled face as she tried to remember the final item on her list. Even though she frequently bought the same things, she'd forget items occasionally, as she refused to make a paper list. She claimed she'd never needed one before then and that still didn't need one in her old age. Her confusion and determination was like a light blanket that settled over Makoto's mind, making it impossible to ignore the urge to help her.

 

  Having decided to help, the young man turned to his right and addressed the old woman in the seat next to him. "Good morning, Hamasaki-san." She jumped in her seat, broken out of her reverie. The blanket of her grocery list recitation faded from Makoto's mind.   


"Oh?" said Hamasaki-san "Mako-chan? Good morning, my boy, how are you?"   


"I'm doing well, Hamasaki-san, thank you. Is it shopping day already?"  


"Call me Obaa-san, I keep telling you. And yes, every Thursday, you know"  


"Of course, of course, Obaa-san. Did you remember to write a list this time?" He asked courteously. Hamasaki-san huffed and shifted the purse on her lap.   


"Who do I look like? I certainly did, it's all up in here," she said with a secretive smile and tapped her forefingers against her temple." Makoto chuckled lightly.  


"So you have everything thought of? That's good." The brunet man waited for her to take the bait.   


"Yes," she leaned back against the bus seat,"Eggs, rice, milk, bread and...and.." She trailed off, and grumbled "Now, I know exactly what I need, don't give me that look, boy."  


Makoto carefully schooled his features, wiped the mirth off of his face and replaced it with a placating expression. He made a thoughtful noise and then said "Didn't you say something about buying plums yesterday?"  
 

Hamasaki-san's eyes brightened and Makoto felt warmth spread through his chest and tickle his mental awareness as well, a barely-there brush of what the woman next to him felt.

He liked helping his kindly neighbor when he could, as she was the first person to welcome him to the apartment complex he recently moved into for college.

 

Being in a whole new city all by himself was more than intimidating, but she’d welcomed him to the neighborhood with a large bowl of udon and a stern reminder to not ruin his health with take-out food or wild college parties. After the first greeting, Hamasaki-san often caught him in conversation, handing him leftovers from meals where she always conveniently made too much, despite living on her own for many years. In return, Makoto liked to help her whenever she allowed him to.   


"Thank you, Mako-chan, I have been craving some plums lately" she nodded, satisfied that her shopping list was complete.  


"It's not a problem, Obaa-san" Makoto reassured her.  


The old woman tutted fondly, eyes sparkling with warmth,  


"That's what I like about you, Mako-chan, you really mean that. Don't you go overworking yourself to help others all the time. You may have the energy of a strong young man, but you have yourself to focus on too."  


"I won't overwork myself," he promised  


Hamasaki-san made a disbelieving noise and waved her hand dramatically, "Never _you_ , I'm sure. It must be some other young man with brown hair and green eyes."  


"Well,...yes?" He ventured, and chuckled at the sour look that crossed his neighbor's face.

"You know what I mean" she said seriously  


"Yes, Obaa-san"  


"You take care of yourself"  


"Yes Obaa-san"  


   She looked him in the eyes for a moment as if judging how truthful he was being before turning  her attention to the purse in her lap, apparently happy with whatever she discerned from his eyes. She opened the bag and took out a small plastic tupperware container, holding it out to him and gesturing for him to accept. He grasped the container and scanned the sticky note stuck on top, which labeled it simply as "Makoto's Cookies"   


He looked gratefully towards his neighbor, always pleased to receive homemade food from her.   


"It's a little something for helping me rearrange my furniture the other day" she supplied, needlessly. They both knew that she would have found a way to give him cookies regardless, and the simple chore he helped with was nothing more than an excuse to chat and ply him with food.  


"Thank you for the cookies, Obaa-san" she  patted his hand that held the container in its grasp,   
  
"You're welcome, dear. They're best eaten fresh, so you get on that when you can today."  
   
"Okay" he agreed, thanked her again, and stowed the cookies in his backpack, he was looking forward to eating them now, and silently wondered what kind she had packed. "I'll open them at lunch and return the container later, if that's okay?"

 

He knew better by then to try and politely deny the food she offered him or debate her transparent excuses for feeding him. Makoto was honestly grateful for her strong-handed intervention on his eating habits, as the state of his fridge was typically abysmal, and usually only contained the odd juice carton, condiments, and takeout leftovers unless Hamasaki-san brought food over for him. Several months into living on his own and Makoto was a master at heating up canned soup and unwrapping convenience store bentos, but not much else food-wise. He just hadn't found the time to learn yet, and in true college student fashion, owned only one saucepan, a frighteningly small skillet, and virtually no other cooking utensils. In his opinion, the products in the  kitchen-ware aisle looked more akin to medieval torture instruments than anything that could actually be used to make food with.  

 

Hamasaki-san nodded her approval at his acceptance of the cookies and turned her attention to some small crochet project that she had stashed in her purse, finished with conversing for now. He didn't know enough about crochet to be able to tell what she was making, but knew his neighbor well enough that if he asked about it, he would soon have needles and yarn thrust into his hands and told to practice under her watchful eye. Needless to say, he opted not to ask.

 

The steady rumble of the bus slowed down, indicating its arrival at the next stop. The door opened with a screech and the passengers took their opportunity to file on or off the bus. Within seconds, the abandoned seats were filled, squashing the vague hope Makoto had of being able to sit down while carrying his heavy backpack.

 

Without something to focus on, Makoto began to feel the tiny prickling hum that always intruded upon his awareness when around large groups of people. He was glad that nobody's thoughts were particularly strong at the moment. It was mostly a sedate conglomerate of early morning grumblings and sleepy minds sorting through the day's plans buzzing around in the back of his mind, like a tiny, unswattable fly circling his head.

 

He was preparing himself to block his extra sense as the bus doors started to screech shut. However, his concentration was broken when a final passenger hurriedly reached the bus stop and flagged the driver to stop. It seemed that the driver was in a good mood that day, because they kindly re-opened the doors for the late passenger, despite the irritated looks and angry exclamations of the more time-sensitive bus riders.

 

  Makoto observed the young man who made it to the bus stop in the nick of time. He swiped his bus pass, chest heaving lightly from having to run for who knows how long to make it on time. The man sighed resignedly when he noticed the lack of open seats and grabbed a hand-grip from the ceiling a few rows in front of Makoto. From such a close distance, he noticed that the other boy's hair was dark with water, deepening the already dark colour of his hair, and dripping tiny jewel-like droplets down the stranger's skin, wetting his shirt collar lightly. It wasn't raining outside, so the water had to come from a bath or shower. Makoto hoped he wouldn't catch a cold from not properly drying his hair.

 

 The young man with the dark hair wore a hoodie and jeans to combat the early morning chill, not unlike Makoto's own sweater, jacket, and jeans. He was probably a college student as well, judging by his tired slump and the messenger bag hanging over his shoulder.

 

 When he  finally turned his head to gaze out of the window, looking more than a little bored, Makoto lightly gasped. Being able to see the other's face left him struck with just how handsome the stranger wa s. His fringe framed his face, dark strands lightly brushing his cheekbones. Even when damp, his hair looked soft and -Makoto blushed at the thought- so did his lips, lightly pink and pouting ever so slightly. The brunet was disappointed that he couldn't tell the exact colour of the other man's eyes without his glasses, but they appeared to be something light like grey or blue, and Makoto would bet money on them being as fittingly attractive as their owner.

 

Makoto felt a little guilty about essentially ogling a stranger on the bus, but he was near-sighted, not blind, and the other man was clearly attractive in a smooth, nearly graceful way, with a face that leaned just towards the 'pretty' side of masculine.

 

 

 

Makoto closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and slowly centered his focus on pushing away the slightly obnoxious buzzing of the bus occupants' fleeting, aimless thoughts. Since his recent move to a much larger city than his home town, Makoto had gotten particularly good at this. It was a necessity due to the sheer number of people he encountered every day who brushed against his senses, otherwise, he found out quickly, the buzzing of a crowd would grow into a nearly painful cacophony, effortlessly overwhelming him and so graciously gifting him with a monstrous tension headache and an unfortunate case of what Hamasaki-san liked to call 'the grumps'.

 

To start, he pictured an empty, white room, with thick walls and a high ceiling. He worked to reinforce the walls, making them strong enough that the warbling voices could not permeate and cloister together in his own mind. Step one complete, Makoto opened his eyes and began to expand the walls outwards in all directions. When the noises from those surrounding him finally faded away behind the stretching walls, to where not even the tiniest of background thoughts could seep through.

 

Just as he was finishing up, he spotted the attractive stranger, still staring out the window intently as a small smile slowly spread across his face. More of a quirk of his lips upward, really, but Makoto found it enchanting all the same. There had been such an expression of boredom and apathy on the guy's face when he entered the bus that it made Makoto wonder exactly what he saw or thought of to make him smile. Even such a small one as the one he sported now, made his demeanor light up like something angelic to Makoto's eyes.

 

Was the man just really fond of the sky? Was he reminded of a particularly good memory?  Did he remember a joke- the kind that still has you chuckling three weeks later as you retell it to your friends and family for the fifth time?

 

 

 

Makoto groaned internally and just barely resisted the urge to fling himself out of the bus window closest to him. It didn’t matter that they were all closed or that the bus was still moving, all that mattered was that he wouldn't have to pass the object of his strange ruminations on the way out.

 

Lost in his thoughts, Makoto forgot about completing his routine block, and nearly stumbled backwards when he was suddenly assaulted with someone's mental images and voice.

 

" _If you resist the water, it will rear up and attack you_ ," spoke a man's voice in a serious, determined tone. " _If you accept it, it will accept you and let you through with ease._ "

As the man was speaking, a picture materialized inside Makoto's mind. A lone figure stood on the starting block of an olympic swimming pool. They kicked off into a graceful arch and landed in the pool without a splash. 

 

He noticed something odd about the daydream; the substance that filled the pool wasn't water. It looked more like cotton, fluffy, light, and white. Focusing on it brought the vision closer to Makoto, the picture clearer. What looked like cotton on first sight was actually clouds. Billowing, white cumulonimbus clouds softly floating inside an olympic swimming pool, yet somehow retaining their aerated shape and creating enough buoyancy to keep a person afloat. This was not the strangest thing he'd picked up from someone's mind, but it was really vivid for something so simple.

 

The person swimming through the cloud pool did so with just as much skill as when they dove off of the starting block. Long arms and legs kicked out in a freestyle stroke, swiftly propelling the swimmer through the clouds. It was easier now to define the figure as male, as the utter lack of a top piece to the swimsuit was made obvious with the change in clarity gave away. When the swimmer's arms swept through the clouds, he made no more sound than if someone was practicing the stroke on dry land. It somehow looked taxing all the same, as if he wasn't swimming through what was essentially air and vapor, but through actual water instead, muscles working vigorously.

 

He touched back on the wall and twisted his body expertly in a lightning quick turn, zooming back toward the direction he came from.

 

It was only when he reached the edge of the pool that he stopped to rest for a few precious moments, and Makoto realized just who's daydream he'd been drawn into. The few strands of dark hair which escaped his swim cap were plastered to his face, not quite long enough to be a bother with most of it held back. Between one blink and the next, he was out of sight and swimming lazily through the ocean of clouds once more.

 

So this was what was making him smile?

 

Makoto grinned shamelessly. It was thoroughly simplistic and almost childish in its innocence.  It kept the owner of the daydream completely enraptured, focusing only on the feeling of the clouds, cool and damp, just like any other body of water, yet offering less resistance while still keeping him afloat. It was magical to witness, but magical in the sort of way that didn't require large displays of sparks and lights, or smoke and mirrors. It was honest enjoyment and fanciful action and it made Makoto smile because it so obviously brought pleasure to the man who'd been imagining it. He liked to think that said something about the kind of person he was.

 

Deciding he'd been hanging around in another person's mind without permission far too long, the brunet slowly pulled himself back from the daydream, the vision becoming blurred as he carefully extricated himself. He unwound the parts of his mind from those of the other passenger,  tiny tendrils loosening and uncurling from the edges of the other's consciousness almost reluctantly.  Makoto firmly paid them no mind and silently apologized to the young man whose privacy he'd accidentally invaded as he detached from the other's mind. Full awareness of the real world came back to him in a rush that left him momentarily disoriented.

 

Makoto shook his head to rid himself of the fuzziness he always got from entering someone's thoughts. It was one thing to pick up the stray words or ideas that always flowed out of people and fluttered around them, as he was quite literally a magnet for them, but it was another thing entirely to bring his own presence to someone else’s and be witness to their imaginations. That sort of thing took effort and direction of projection, which the mind reader steadily avoided doing for both his own privacy and that of those around him at any given time.

 

However, he sheepishly realized that he would miss the peaceful scene. The morning rush usually dealt him frustrated and tired psyches which brushed against him less like a swimming pool of clouds and more like a swimming pool full of nails and glass, but it was of little consequence compared to other things. Like studying for his upcoming exams. Or learning how to cook something fresher than boxed dinners. Then, of course, finding time to speak with his friends and family. Sleep, too, was eventually needed every day.

 

Situations like this, however, were the exact reasons Makoto put extended effort towards blocking others out. His mood could become too easily influenced,  or his thoughts too distracted, scattering to the wind as someone else's blew through his range of pick-up. He valued his privacy and knew that the general public would not appreciate his abilities being misused, either.

 

He smoothed down the walls he'd previously put up, pointedly shutting his awareness of a certain passenger out, and reinforcing the cracks his inattention had caused to form until none were left.

 

Job done for the time being, Makoto let out a sigh of relief and set himself to wait out the rest of the bus ride in peace, idly thinking about the classes he had to attend that day and the various assignments he had to work on after school.

 

After some time, the bus slowed down and stopped with a screech of its brakes, and Makoto realized that this was his stop. Adjusting his backpack on his shoulder, the brunet smiled and waved, saying goodbye to Hamasaki-san, who waved back, not looking up from the partially finished crochet in her hand.

 

He made his way carefully through the passengers, doing his best not to jostle them with his broad shoulders and heavy backpack. Following the few others who were making their departures from the bus, he shuffled along as quickly as he could, avoiding contact of any kind with the young man he'd been observing. Reaching the stairs, he chanced a look out of the corner of his eyes,  catching an up close view of the man standing at the front of the bus.

 

Preoccupied as he was to get one last glance, when he put his foot on the step, he missed it entirely,  his body lurching forward suddenly. Makoto swiftly caught the hand rails leading down, keeping himself from falling completely off the bus, but could do nothing about the embarrassingly loud clatter he made, nor the intense feeling of panic which flittered in his chest when he fell. He could hear a couple people gasp in surprise, and even one whisper "Ouch!", while those closest to him asked if he was alright.

 

Blushing in shame at his own clumsiness, he looked back into the vehicle to reassure everyone of his safety.

 

"I'm okay, I'm okay! Thank you!" he uttered quickly, and bobbed his head in a bow of acknowledgment, wanting to get off of the bus as soon as possible, but not wanting to be rude.

 

By a stroke of luck, as he was turning to exit the bus, his eyes slipped past, and perhaps rested on for a second too long to be coincidental,  the very reason he tripped to begin with. Makoto found that the young man was looking back, and for a moment their eyes met, proving Makoto’s earlier guess of eye color correct. They were blue. Stunningly, mesmerizingly, blue. The kind of blue you would find when diving into the ocean and gazing at the sunlight filtering throughout the endless depths. Large bodies of water still made the brunet somewhat nervous, but the stranger’s eyes were certainly an ocean that he would not mind being adrift in. 

 

 The dark haired young man looked ever so slightly concerned, and was undoubtedly wondering what caused his accident. There was very little in the world that would make Makoto admit 'your attractiveness'. He did however, nod towards him politely and smile, a little too wide and too honest to be a mere nicety.

 

To his surprise,  the man's eyes widened a little and he swiftly and somewhat stiffly nodded back in response to the silent greeting. Makoto nodded once more, this time more to himself than anyone else, then carefully exited the bus, making his way to his college down the road, heart feeling a little bit fluttery all the while.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at thatwasyoursoupipoisoned.tumblr.com  
> Parts 2 and 3 will be slow to come, but they will be finished and posted :)


End file.
